


Off the Canvas

by CupidRenegade



Series: Vernissage [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, OCs - Freeform, Storyteller/Art AU, future-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidRenegade/pseuds/CupidRenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living within his own boundaries, he found a way to breathe life into the figments of his imagination. All he needed was a paintbrush, a canvas, and a helping hand from the sunflower on his windowsill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Haikyuu!!  
> However, I do own Mamoru and Chisaki.

"If you were to walk into the home of Kageyama Tobio, the first thing you would see would be his paintings," the museum guide said, gesturing to a picture of a small house surrounded by forest. "There were dozens hanging on the walls, littering the floor, propped up against stands. Paintings of trees, lakes, animals, if only to name a few. But his most profound paintings are the ones we will be viewing in this gallery today. If you would please follow me." The guide opened the glass door and strode into the entrance of the art gallery, the high school class following suit. 

Mamoru groaned softly. This was definitely not his idea of a field trip. Balancing his pencil on one finger, he glanced over at Chisaki. " _Psst_. Hey, Saki. Saki. Psst." Mamoru pocketed his pencil and nudged his best friend, who was currently trying to ignore him. "Psst. Hey, _Chisaki_ -!" 

Chisaki snapped her head towards Mamoru, narrowing her eyes. " _What do you want._ And keep your voice down, for goodness' sake!" 

"But Saki, this is so boring. Art is useless. Why can't we go to like, a law firm or some laboratory somewhere? I mean, at least we would learn _something_." 

"We  _ARE_ learning! Art is a means of expressing emotion through a series of elaborate methods, a way for the artist to convey some kind of meaning to the viewer..."

He'd lost her. 

Mamoru turned his attention to the paintings on the walls while Chisaki droned on and on about the "deep emotional connections of art." He may as well see what all the fuss was about this particular artist- Kaname? Kazuki? Kagemaru? Kage-something-or-other. The guide led the class through a dimly lit tunnel after they had all gone through the glass door. On the walls were descriptions of the artist's life and several photos of where he lived. "The life of Kageyama Tobio is shrouded in mystery," the museum guide said. "Although we know very little about him, his paintings offer clues as to who he was, how he saw the world, and how he lived out  days." The guide stopped in front of a large framed portrait of a young man, looking to be along the lines of about nineteen or twenty years old. The portrait was made up of swirling dark hues: his hair was as black as the feathers of a crow, and the world behind him was composed of the silhouettes of several unidentifiable figures. His eyes provided the only hints of bright color on the canvas. They were a deep shade of blue, eyes that seemed to stare right into Mamoru's own. Mamoru gulped, taking a step back, the sensation of being watched washing over his consciousness. 

_I am here, the only one of my kind_ , the portrait seemed to say. 

The tour guide continued on. "This portrait is the only image of Kageyama himself, dating back to the early 2000's nearly a century ago."

As the guide spoke, Chisaki weaved her way through the students, stopping next to Mamoru. "There you are. Still think this is boring?"

"Not any-hrm, I mean, yes. Yes, this is still boring."

"Mhmmm." Chisaki smirked. "Admit it. You appreciate the exhibit."

"Shut up. We've only seen one, and it's just his portrait." Mamoru huffed and looked away from her, his face tinted red with embarrassment. Chisaki smiled and stared up at the portrait. "You know, historians have confirmed that this was Kageyama's last painting."

"Hmph. You'd think he'd paint the portrait of himself first."

"It just reveals more of who he was. This is just mere speculation, but...maybe he was lonely, you know? He wanted to paint beautiful things. He never considered himself to be one of them. Maybe something happened to make him change his mind."

Mamoru said nothing. He hovered his hand over the canvas's surface. Chisaki wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "Um...what are you doing?" Mamoru quickly snatched his hand back from the painting. _What_ AM _I doing,_ he wondered. "Hey kids," the museum guide called. "Come on, the rest of your group is already moving." The guide came up next to them. "You guys like this one? Just wait until you see the rest." The guide leaned down conspiratorially. "There's a legend that says Kageyama had the ability to breathe life into the things he painted. An ability granted to him by a sunflower spirit."

_Bullshit_. Mamoru blew his bangs out of his face and followed a babbling Chisaki into the gallery. The guide shook her head as she watched them go. She looked back up at the portrait one last time, the corners of her lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "That kid doesn't know what he's in for."

* * *

_All art is at once surface and symbol_

_Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril._

_Those who read the symbol do so at their peril._

                                   - Oscar Wilde 


	2. Vivification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more to the gallery than meets the eye, and in another time, an artist meets a certain spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to the readers! :D

The gallery was even bigger than he'd pictured.

Significantly awed, Mamoru stopped to take it all in- a marble floor, white columns, paintings on every wall framed with gold, and a skylight illuminating all of it. "All this for a sheltered introvert," he wondered aloud. Chisaki glowered at him. "I thought you'd finally developed a taste in artwork."

"Well, you're wrong," Mamoru held up two fingers, forming a peace sign. "Like you always are!" Laughing, he ducked as Chisaki swung her arm at him.

"Get over yourself!"

" _You_ get over yourself! I can't believe you even have the  _audacity_ to-"

"Takeguchi, Ichigawa! Keep it down!" Their homeroom teacher marched over to them and gave each of them a clipboard with several sheets of paper. "There are other visitors here, and remember that you are representing our school. Now...if you both had paid any attention at all, you would've noticed that you will be writing a short essay analyzing one painting from this gallery. Take down some notes, and keep your volume  _down_." With one last withering look, the teacher turned on his heel and went off to hand out clipboards to the rest of the students. Mamoru clicked his tongue and rolled up his sleeves. "I may suck at writing, but at least I've got great work ethic. Unlike some lazy bums," he drawled. Chisaki gritted her teeth, restraining herself from hitting the fool.

Once everyone had received a clipboard and paper, the museum guide proceeded with the gallery viewing. The class followed her as she walked over to the first painting on their left. Mamoru moved up closer to get a better a look.

Two joint hands holding a singled brush.

Mamoru bit his lip and furrowed his brow. What meaning did two hands and a paintbrush have? Mamoru scratched several ideas on his sheet:

 

_**PAINTING #1: TWO HANDS & PAINTBRUSH  
**_ _-_ _symbol of creation  
_ \- _friendship  
_ \- _art has emotional connections  
_ \- _l ~~ove?~~_   _romantic interest_

 

"You sure are thinking hard, kid," the museum guide said, looking over Mamoru's shoulder. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Um...thanks."

"Don't mention it. You're getting close." The guide quickly looked behind her, then turned back to face Mamoru, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Why don't you take a nice, long look at those hands? Maybe it'll help." With that, she sauntered off to chat with another student. Mamoru took one last look at the painting. 

 

He could've sworn he'd seen the hands move just an inch. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tobio had gotten used to being abandoned.

His mother, whom he'd never know, abandoned him on the doorstep of a neighbor and ran away. The neighbor found him crying in a cardboard box, wrapped up in a cloth with a dwarf sunflower pinned to it. As the years went by, all who had decided to take him in eventually left him on his own. Already, he knew what it felt like to be locked in a dark room. How it felt to be the only child in the sandbox, with no friend in the world. How it felt like to be dumped onto the roadside and being left to his own devices at the tender age of seven.

Every single year, everything stayed the same. "Love" would always be "loved." It was never constant. It was always,  _always_ past tense. 

He used to think that maybe his mother did, in fact, love him more than anything else in the world. But there was also the chance that she never did. Otherwise, she wouldn't have abandoned him and he would still be with her, living a normal life with a family that cared.      

The only consolation he had was the small sunflower that never wilted, the only possession his birth mother left him with.

However, he believed that one day, the sunflower would leave him too. Just like everyone else. 

Tobio was free to live on his own by the time he turned eighteen. He moved into a small house near the edge of the forest, just beyond the open fields separating the town from wooded area. There wasn't much space, but at least he could keep his distance from the townspeople. The forest and the meadows and ponds provided Tobio with inspiration for his favorite activity: painting. Painting was the only way to escape the invisible pain he dealt with every day of his meager existence. It gave him a sense of comfort, as well as the chance to visualize a world he would never be a part of- a world where he would be able to lean on someone else's shoulder for once...

" _Fuck!_ " Tobio swore after bashing his knee against a wooden table leg.

...and he _really_ needed a shoulder to lean on.

Tobio hissed, grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself. Carefully, he limped around the table, holding on for support. "One of these days, I'll break my whole leg," he grumbled. "Damn furniture." He plopped down on a cushioned chair by the open window, and watched his knee turned black and blue. He leaned back and released a long sigh. A small breeze drifted into the house. His sunflower, sitting contently in its ceramic pot, swayed and quivered in the gentle wind. It looked as though it was nodding, as if it were frantically asking if Tobio's knee was okay. "I'm doing just fine," Tobio whispered, reaching out to touch the sunflower's petals.

A year had passed since he'd first moved into the house. His new life was good, at least so far.

Tobio stared at the ceiling. "A short nap...would be nice..." He drifted off, and entered a dream.

 

_He was in the middle of a field. It looked vaguely like the field he saw outside the window of his house. "Tobio." He heard someone call his name. When he turned around, he saw himself as a child of only five years of age. This child looked afraid. Alone. Tobio clutched at his chest; His heart was beating too fast for his own liking. The child looked straight at him, blue eyes dull and blank, and face devoid of joy. Deprived of the one thing he truly longed for. All around him, the flowers in the field were wilting. The child was wilting with them, having no energy left to cry for help. Tobio froze when the child opened his mouth to speak._

_"I wish I wasn't lonely anymore."_

 

Tobio shot up from the chair, sweaty and shaking. A sharp jolt of his knee made him sit back down. Tobio tried to control his breathing. He ran a hand through his hair, still trembling from the shock. How many times did he have to revisit the darkest place of his mind? Maybe it would be better if he didn't sleep at all.

"Crap! He's going to kill me...!"

Kageyama immediately jumped up from his seat, ignoring the throbbing bruise on his knee. _Who said that?!_ Tobio heard something-or someone-making small noises of distress from behind the chair. Tobio slowly made his way around the chair, catching a glimpse of bright orange hair. _What in the-_

Tobio screamed. The naked orange-haired boy screamed. Tobio grabbed the nearest easel and was prepared to knock the boy out. The orange-haired boy threw his arms into the air. "STOP! Stop, stop, stop, stop! I come in peace, I swear!" Tobio brought the easel down on the boy's head. He fell over, knocked out cold. Breathing heavily, Tobio knelt down and poked the boy to make sure he was unconscious. Once calm, Tobio crossed his arms across his chest and tried to assess the situation.

"Maybe I went a little overboard."   

* * *

 

> _A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light._
> 
> _-_ Leonardo Da Vinci
> 
>         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Kags and Hinata have made their grand entrance. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Note: Chapters will bounce between time periods.


	3. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama acquires a special ability.

“Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

“A fellow spirit of mine. I told him to be more careful in the Reveal process...”

“I’m guessing he’s a newbie.”

“Yeah, he came into existence only nineteen years ago. He’s pretty young for a Guardian Spirit.”

“Well, his assignment will warm up to him eventually.”

“True. But...that’s what worries me.”

“Worries you?”

“You see, Hinata’s a little different from other spirits like myself..."

__________ 

More than half an hour had flown by, and the orange-haired boy was still unconscious. Tobio mentally pat himself on the back, a minor reward for successfully defending himself against an intruder. At the moment, said intruder and potential axe-murderer was a mess of sprawled limbs underneath a blanket Tobio had thrown over him to cover up his (ahem) lack of clothing. He nudged the lump with his big toe, and once he was absolutely, _positively_ sure that the boy wasn't going to wake up for a while, he poured himself a cup of coffee to try and drink away his troubles with caffeine. Tobio glanced at the clock. 6:00 p.m. Several hours after he'd fallen asleep in his chair. He sat back down on that chair and thought about his current situation. "How the hell did he get into my house in the first place?" 

Last he'd checked, his door was locked. And all the windows were-wait. The window. Tobio slapped himself on the forehead. Of course: he forgot to close the window by the chair before taking a nap. He set down his coffee and closed the window so as not to let any other uninvited guests into his home. And as he shut the window, he noticed something very curious and considerably alarming.

The sunflower was gone, and in its place were the shattered remains of the flowerpot.

Tobio liked to think of himself as a calm, rational person ( ~~most~~ some of the time). But in that very moment, he allowed himself to freak out. Within his mind, it was absolute chaos. 

_This cannot be happening right now. Flowers can't just disappear, right? Right?! Maybe it just fell on the floor somewhere...oh, that's ridiculous, I would've seen it by now. Why is the flowerpot broken? Did I somehow thrash around in my sleep? Maybe orange-top broke it when he crept through the window. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap..._

He spent the next few minutes pacing around the living room, feeling more uneasy than he'd ever felt before. He tried to convince himself to believe that everything was fine and that he'd find it eventually, but years of experience granted him no sense of reassurance. As it had been established earlier on in the beginning chapters of his life, Tobio was very much used to being left in total isolation. He stood still, staring blankly at the broken pieces. It was silly of him to think that anything good would last, at least in his lifetime. He anticipated that this would happen anyway. After all, the flower probably grew tired of him, like all the others did. It couldn't have died and simply disintegrated; Its immortality was undeniable. As a child, Tobio noticed that the small sunflower never needed water or sunlight like most flowers did. At the time, he thought the flower would always be there when no one else was (people found it strange, but he never minded). Of course, he was sorely mistaken. He soon found himself unable to draw his eyes away from the shattered pot, and so he cleaned it up and put the pieces in a bag, storing them away in the back of his shed, because he knew he didn't want to let go just yet. He then sat back down in the chair, the sensation of being lonely again hitting him full force.

"Tobio...?"

Tobio sprang up from his chair. The boy had awoken, and was standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. He swiftly grabbed the easel and pointed it at the boy. "I won't hesitate to knock you out again-permanently this time!" The boy squeaked and held his hands over his head, trying in vain to protect his skull. "Don't!" he yelled. "Just let me explain!"

"Explain what, exactly?!"

"Put the easel down!"

"Like hell I will! Also, how do you know my name? You some kind of stalker?"

"What? No! I mean-no, it didn't work that way!"

"What are you even talking about, dumbass!"

" _Dumbass?!_ " 

Tobio swung the easel at the boy, who dodged it repeatedly as Tobio tried to nail him in the head over and over again. The boy suddenly fell to his knees, surprising Tobio. He clasped his hands together and looked up pleadingly at Tobio. "Let me talk, and then you'll understand. Please?"

Tobio had two options on the table: he could knock the boy out again and drop the body off at Tsukishima's place in town, or he could listen to what he had to say. Against his better judgement, he went with the latter. He set down the easel and eyed the boy suspiciously. "Okay. I'll hear you out." The boy  jumped up, a relieved look on his face. "Oh, good," he said. "Now, where do I begin?"

* * *

 

"I will give you all five minutes to finalize your notes for this painting before we move on, because you are being graded on how well you take them. Make sure to write down the key details in 'The Two Hands.' Also, you must write six sentences describing the symbolism..."

Mamoru drowned out Kuramoto-sensei's voice with his own thoughts. The more he looked at the painting, the more he felt compelled to learn about the story behind it. _Maybe that's why Chisaki is so into art,_  he thought.  _There's a whole bunch of hidden meanings._ When Kuramoto-sensei finished giving the instructions, Mamoru sat down on the cool marble floor and started writing up his notes. Chisaki sat down beside him. "So," she said. "Gonna admit that art is cool?"

"Over my sexy, dead body."

"Gross, Mamoru." Chisaki groaned. "Come on, I can see it in the way you observed the painting."

"Hm. We'll see."

The museum guide knelt down next to them. "I checked in with your classmates to see how they're doing, and now it's your turn. Any questions? Thoughts?" Chisaki shook her head. "We're good, thank-"

"Actually," Mamoru said, interrupting her. "Can I please talk with you for a minute?"

 

* * *

Tobio, without a single doubt, thought that the orange-haired lunatic was spouting complete, utter bullshit. 

"I knew it. You're crazy."

"It's all true!" The boy gestured wildly at himself. " _I'm_ your sunflower! Except, in human form. And I was assigned as your Guardian Spirit!" 

"Look, do you need a doctor-"

The boy let out a noise of frustration. "I'm being serious here!"

"Well, so am I. And I think you need medical attention. Did I hit your head too hard? Is that it?"

"You leave me no choice," the boy said forlornly. "Try not to freak out, okay?"

Tobio frowned at him. "Freak out at what-HOLY...!"

The boy's arms were slowly turning green. His hands grew, becoming leaves, and his fingers stretched out to become the veins. Tobio backed away slowly, gulping down a scream. "I-I think...I think I believe you now." The boy grinned, and he willed his arms to revert back to flesh and bone. Tobio recollected himself, and glared at the boy. "Why now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you turn human just now? You've been watching me, haven't you? You knew I was lonely. So why fucking now, of all times?"

"Because you've reached the age that humans regard as the time you come to be an independent individual," the boy replied. "At this stage, it's time for me to step in and interfere. Otherwise, you'll remain alone the rest of your life. It's my job to help you."

"And how will you do that?"

"You see," the boy began to explain. "Every Guardian Spirit grants a special ability to their assignment when they need it the most. That ability will allow them to gain what they've always longed for."

_What they've always longed for._  

Tobio felt a rush of urgency surge through him. Because now, he had a chance. However slim the chance, he wanted-no, he _needed_  this so-called special ability. If the guy could turn his arms into leaves, he could give Tobio something to secure his longstanding wish. "Please," he said. "Grant it to me now." The boy nodded, smiling lightly. "With pleasure. Can you lend me your paintbrush?" Tobio nodded, and afterwards, the boy clasped Tobio's hand with one of his own, his favorite paintbrush between their intertwined fingers. Tobio watched in awe as the paintbrush, as well as their hands, glowed a pale yellow. Then, in a flash of a dozen different colors, the boy let go of Tobio's hand, letting him hold the paintbrush. 

"Now," the boy said, "Why don't you try painting something? Anything would suffice."

Tobio immediately went to work, the paintbrush furiously moving back and forth on stretched canvas. He was painting faster, and more efficiently than before. Once he added the finishing touches, he moved back to look over it. The boy went up beside him. "Really? Why that?"

"Shut up. I tend to paint recent things. Things that strike me as being worth painting." At that response, the spirit nodded sagely. Tobio had painted what had just occured: the boy giving Tobio his ability.

"So...what'll happen?"

"Wait for it...now."

The painting burst to life, the glowing hands and the bursts of color revived once again, except in acrylic paint. Tobio watched slack-jawed, amazed at what he had just done. "This is just...wow..." The boy smiled, bouncing excitedly. "I know, right? Just you wait, it'll get even better."

"So...what was your name?"

"You can call me Hinata. Or Shouyou. Whatever floats your boat."

Tobio turned his attention back to the painting. Realization hit him. He would be able to do anything with this sort of ability. Soon, it dawned on him; He knew what he could do.

"Hinata. We're going to town tomorrow."

* * *

_"Everything you can imagine is real."_

                      - Pablo Picasso 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And sorry for the late update, heh. Life happens.


	4. Impressionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobio and Hinata head into town, and Mamoru wants some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Finals are coming up...oh my

The next morning, Tobio woke up earlier than he was used to on Saturday mornings. Not because of any huge commitment, but because of a newfound reason to rise with the sun again. He got up from his bed and stretched before heading into his bathroom to freshen up. Afterwards, he made his way to the living room to check that sunflower boy-Hinata-was indeed real, and not some kind of childish fantasy. He found Hinata lounging on on the chair by the open window where he used to sit in his ceramic pot all day. “Hinata,” Tobio said. “Do you...Guardian Spirits need stuff to eat or drink or...? Hinata turned his head towards him and spoke. “Oh, I’m good with just some water and sunlight. Spirits consume whatever their Earthly form does. Like one of my superiors, he takes the form of a crow, so he eats worms and bugs and stuff. It’s gross.” Hinata turned back to face the sun, whose rays beamed down in through the window.

Later on, Tobio and Hinata began walking to the town, about a mile away from where Tobio lived. Along the way, Hinata tried to strike up some light conversation, which Tobio seemed wholly uninterested in partaking in.

“So...how does this compare to the city?”

“It’s fine.”

“Are the people nice?”

“Sure.”

An awkward silence settled between the two. Surprisingly enough, though, it was Tobio who began talking again. “Tell me about my problem.”

“Huh?”

“You know, the reason why you’re guiding me in the first place.” Hinata thought for a moment. “You’ve been abandoned plenty of times, and no one seemed to like you? I mean, I was there the whole time, so...” Tobio’s expression darkened. “Oh,” he mumbled. “Of course.” He tugged a strand of his dark hair and stared ahead. “How is painting things to life going to solve my so-called problem anyways.”

“Art is a means of expression,” Hinata chirped, skipping in front of Tobio. “So think of it as a remedial thing. Also, it may even help with your inability of making actual friends.” Tobio nodded slightly, and continued walking. “Come on, you idiot,” he said, pulling Hinata forward. “Let’s hurry up.”

__________

“This place looks pretty lively,” Hinata observed. He watched as a storekeeper chatted animatedly with a customer outside. Upon entering the town, the road split into two narrower ones, going around a pond with a fountain surrounded by large stones. On either side of the split roads were about a dozen houses, and a few trees could be seen farther back. The town itself had its own backdrop of a few mountains in the distance. As they walked farther into the town, smaller stone pathways gradually replaced the cemented roads. The land was noticeably uneven, and Hinata was able to spot a couple shrines here and there, settled atop small hills with stairways. “This place is really nice...” Hinata wondered aloud. Tobio glanced at him. “You mean you’ve never come here before? As a spirit and all?”

“Of course not. I always have to stay at close proximity with you. Guardian Handbook, page 152, section 8-B, chapter 11, paragraph 5.”

“Heh.”

The pair eventually stopped at a small store, with a sign that read “Hana.” Hinata tilted his head in confusion. “A...flower shop?” Tobio nodded briskly, and walked towards the door. Hinata followed, but Tobio held up one hand. “You are staying outside.”

“What? But why?”

“Just stay outside!” Tobio stepped into the store and shut the door behind him. Hinata tried to peek through the glass windows, but the leaves of potted plants blocked his field of vision. He could just barely make out a head with blond hair and glasses.

__________

The bell rang, meaning a customer had come in. Kei sighed in exasperation and emerged from the back room. “Welcome-”

“Tsukishima. Do you have the paint?”

Kei smirked. "What, no good morning?"

"Tsukishima-!"

"Alright, alright. I'm messing with you. The paint came in from the city this morning. Tanaka brought stuff into town." 

Tsukishima disappeared into the back room again. Tobio shifted his feet and put his hands in his pockets, waiting for Tsukishima to bring out the paint. The blond reappeared, this time holding a medium-sized cardboard box. He set it down on the counter, letting Tobio open it up and examine the contents. "This what you ordered?" Tsukishima asked. He had begun trimming a small house plant next to the cash register. Tobio raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "These paints are the expensive kind professionals use. Why'd you get these?"

"Whoa, don't get the wrong idea and think that _I_ decided to buy these for you," Tsukishima said. "It was Tanaka this time." 

"Tanaka? I didn't know he was rich."

"He's not."

"Then...where does he get the time and money to go to the city all the time and get stuff?"

"Who knows. Maybe he actually landed a pretty lucrative job in the city. If you really want to know, ask him yourself." Tsukishima lazily leaned against the counter, propping himself up with his elbow. "By the way," he inquired. "Who's your friend?" Tobio frowned. Friend? He turned around. 

Oh _hell_ no. 

Through the glass windows, he could see the spirit jumping up and down, trying to get a better view over the potted plants. His orange hair flopped as he waved, trying to get Tobio's attention. Tobio groaned and rubbed his temple. "Hinata, you dumbass!" Hinata came into the shop after seeing that he'd caught their attention. "Pardon the intrusion!"

Tsukishima sported an amused look on his face. "And I thought you were a total loner," he drawled, standing up straighter to flaunt his height. "Looks like the high-and-mighty king found a member for his royal court." Hinata looked back and forth from Tobio to the tall blond. "Is he a friend, Tobio-kun?" he asked.  Tsukishima raised his eyebrows. "Ooh, the king's on a first name basis." Tobio restrained himself from strangling them both.

"No, he's just an acquaintance," Tobio replied. "And stop calling me by my first name." Hinata frowned. "But...you didn't seem to have a problem with it before-"

"Just don't!"

"Okay, okay!"

Tobio huffed in annoyance and lifted up the cardboard box. "We're leaving now." Tsukishima waved them off. 

As they walked through town once more, Hinata bombarded Tobio with more questions about the residents, demanding to know if he'd actually succeeded in making at least one or two friends in the time he was a plant. Tobio kept telling him no, saying that he only knew them because he often came to town for groceries and art supplies. Hinata slumped over. "Darn."

* * *

"So what did you have to talk to me about?" The museum guide rested her hands on her hips. Mamoru felt a bit of guilt for leaving Chisaki on the floor by the column where they sat, but decided he needed to do this. "Can you...tell me more about this Kageyama guy?"

The tour guide smiled brightly. "Of course I can! Anything in particular?"

"Like...his home life."

The tour guide scratched her head. "Hm...where do I begin...I guess I should tell you about his circumstances as a child."

"What do you mean by circumstances?"

"You see, Kageyama was always being passed from one family to another. He was abandoned by his biological mother when he was a teeny weeny baby. Basically, it's your typical orphan sob story. The first person his mother left him with tossed him away pretty quickly and gave him to someone else. And so on and so forth. I think he was in some orphanage at some point, but no one wanted him." 

Mamoru nodded, taking extra notes. "What about-"

"Alright, students!" Kuramoto-sensei clapped his hands. "We'll be moving on. You've all had enough time for your notes."

The tour guide pat Mamoru's shoulder. "We'll continue later." 

* * *

_"The role of the artist is to ask questions, not answer them."_

_-_ Anton Chekhov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> (Hmmm...gee, I wonder how the museum guide knows so much about Kageyama....)

**Author's Note:**

> More development of the plot is yet to come! (Also Kags and the gang)  
> I got this idea while strolling through an art gallery.
> 
> For some clarification, Mamoru and Chisaki live in the year 2113


End file.
